[attr="class","illeana"]

[attr="class","illeana b"]

[attr="class","illeana i"]she feels her stomach lurch at the sight unfolding before them. the sound of the knife slicing through the slowpoke's tail is enough for her to gag, just barely swallowing back her breakfast from spilling out right onto the floor.

and her eyes meet ollie's, though they're watery and pained.

she can't do this.

it's too much...

"no."

her voice sounds a little off at first, as if it's surprising that it even came out at all. after a moment, it returns, stronger than before.

"no way in hell am i doing that."

delicacy or not, it's fucked up and she won't stand for it.

ollie morales

[attr="class","illeana"]

[attr="class","illeana b"]

[attr="class","illeana i"]the butcher reacts as well as she expects, which isn't well at all. spittle flies toward them and before the knife can hit either of their bodies, ollie grabs her and steers them toward another portal.

she takes one last look at the slowpoke, a feeling of helplessness rising, before the scene changes...

and they're settling on a lakeside beach instead, withered crystablooms barely perking up at their arrival. it's beautiful, still, despite the decaying flora.

something tugs at her from the lake, begging and yanking on her body for her to drift to the water, but ollie has other ideas.

he settles, instead, beside the immobile persian. she follows him blindly, though a slight distance is kept as a shadowy energy seems to leak slowly from the persian like faint clouds of smoke.

"will it be alright?"

could she heal it if she tried? or is it past the point of return?

ollie morales

[attr="class","illeana"]

[attr="class","illeana b"]

[attr="class","illeana i"]even with good intentions, the worst still comes like clockwork. she cannot stop the inevitable as the persian begins to attack, spurred on by an odd will-o-wisp and made to dance on strings.

the scene shifts before they can do much else and she frowns as the persian collapses once more before their surroundings full change.

what is this simulation, really?

they're on a spaceship now, and she feels a newfound sense of dread begin to cling to her bones. it's sharp, demanding, almost archaic in its entirety...

and while ollie asks an important question, she's distracted by the controls, by the set destination.

"the hall of origin."

she's only heard of it in myths, sprawled out in ancient religious texts and made into something grandiose in sinnohian lore. her parents had fantasized when she was young about finding it for the belief of locating the father had always been such a lofty dream. to find god - actual, real god - would have proven to be the equivalent of pulling a sword from a stone.

and yet, no one has ever come close. the father is hidden, never to be found unless he deems it necessary.

a hand lurches out from the ground and she yelps, scrambling back as ollie throws up a quick protect. her golurk is released shortly after and the discolored automaton ignores the way the ship lurches to instead knock the hand away from them with hammer arm.

"we need to go!"

something about the hand... it demands blood as the old gods do. her stomach flips at the thought.

ollie morales

[attr="class","illeana"]

[attr="class","illeana b"]

[attr="class","illeana i"]somehow, the simulation lurches into a sudden ending and she feels like she can finally breathe again.

the explosion of the ship's machine room still echoes in her ears even as they come out the other side unscathed.

and the hands, despite their brief appearance, may very well haunt in the following days.

for now, she flashes a relieved smile at ollie morales and moves forward to take his hand.

"let's."

ollie morales